EASY DOODLED QUESTION MARKS on his memo pad. He hung up the phone, saying, “Another vote for San Francisco.”
Nan Alonzo came into his private office, chewing the eraser end of a wooden pencil. “All Jill Jeffers’s friends say the same thing?”
“The three I’ve been able to contact,” said Easy. “Each one tells me Jill was supposed to drive up to San Francisco for the weekend, alone. That she’d probably be staying with this Mitzi Levin. Nobody’s heard from Jill since last Friday.”
“Well, here’s Mitzi Levin’s phone number,” said Nan, placing a pink memo in front of him. “And this is the information on the Jeffers girl’s car.” She added a second slip to the first. “The car hasn’t turned up wrecked or abandoned so far.”
“What about hospitals?”
“Nobody has anyone resembling her. Though an emergency hospital over in Santa Monica has a hit-and-run blonde who sounded good, until they mentioned she’s six feet two and speaks only Norwegian.”
“Maybe we can get Killespie to settle for her.” He picked up the phone again, dialed area code 415 and then the San Francisco number of the Levin girl.
The phone rang four times and then a soft girl’s voice said, “Good afternoon from the Cinema Azul Dirty Movie House. This is a recording. The current attractions at San Francisco’s favorite bawdy film center are A Bad Day for Hot Rocks plus Screwed & Tattooed. Matinees today at two and four. You owe it to yourself to see these two modern-day classics of the liberated cinema. Critic John Stanley of the Chronicle calls them, ‘A magnificent pair of …’ ”
Easy pronged the phone, frowned at his secretary. “Now I know what’s playing. Get me her home phone.”
Scratching her broad flat nose, Nan backed out.
Easy rose and wandered around his office. He looked through the blinds at the small parking lot behind his Sunset Strip office. A television cowboy with silver hair was walking a fat peach-colored poodle among the cars.
Nan returned. “It was unlisted, so it took me an extra minute to get. Here, I’ll dial it for you.”
The cowboy’s fat poodle lifted its leg beside the rear tire of Easy’s dusty black VW, then thought better of it and trotted over to relieve himself on a new Mustang.
“Miss Levin? Hold on please, Los Angeles calling.” Nan handed the receiver to Easy.
“Hello, hello?” a girl was saying. It was the voice on the transcribed movie blurb, only a bit more nasal now.
“I’m John Easy, Miss Levin. I’m a private investigator and I’ve been asked to locate Jill Jeffers.”
“Who did you say you were?”
“John Easy,” repeated Easy.
“You could have saved yourself a toll call, Mr. Easy. I already told Jill’s agent I haven’t seen her in weeks.”
“Jill mentioned to several people she was driving up to San Francisco this past weekend to see you.”
“She never showed. Despite what she may have announced.”
Easy said, “You know that if she stays missing much longer, Miss Levin, the police will come in on this. Now, do you have any idea where she might be?”
After a short silence, Mitzi said, “Well, I didn’t actually see Jill this weekend, Mr. Easy. I did talk to her, though, on the telephone. I sort of promised her not to mention it, but if there’s a possibility she’s in some trouble, I guess I’d better, hadn’t I?”
“Where’d she call you from?”
“Carmel.”
“Was she at her father’s? At the Nordlin place.”
“You know who she really is then?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m not really sure where she was, Mr. Easy. She never said,” explained the girl. “She called me early Saturday to say she had some things to take care of in Carmel and might not get up to see me at all. She didn’t. I’m sure she’s okay, though, don’t you think?”
“What do you think?”
“Jill can be erratic at times,” said Mitzi. “She’s a very talented person, and you know how they can be.”
“She’s two days late for an acting job,” said Easy. “Is she usually that erratic?”
“No.” The girl’s voice was faint. “Jill is almost always an hour or two late, but not two days.”
“What did she have to attend to in Carmel?”
“I really don’t know, Mr. Easy,” said Mitzi. “Listen, please. Jill doesn’t really want people knowing she’s part of the Nordlin family. Being Jill Jeffers has been good for her. It would be really too bad to spoil that. Do you understand?”
Easy asked. “How did she sound?”
“What do you mean? She sounded like she always does.”
“Not depressed?”
Mitzi inhaled, then made a small snorting sound. “You’re thinking about her family, not her, Mr. Easy. No, Jill would never … never do away with herself. I’m sure.”
“Okay. Is there anything else you can tell me?”
“Not really, no. Except I hope you find her.”
After hanging up Easy narrowed one eye at Nan, who was over tuning the air conditioner. “Did you look up little boss Nordlin’s number?”
“Yes.” Nan told him the Carmel phone number.
While dialing Easy drew circular borders around the question marks on his memo pad.
“Good afternoon. Nordlin residence,” answered a woman with a gentle Mexican accent.
“I’d like to speak to Leonard Nordlin.”
“One moment, sir.”
Easy heard footsteps walk away on hardwood floors.
Then a new phone was picked up and a precise male voice said, “Who am I speaking to, please?”
“I’m John Easy, calling from Los Angeles. Mr. Nordlin?”
“Unfortunately Mr. Nordlin is ill and can receive no calls,” replied the precise voice. “I am Cullen Montez, Mr. Nordlin’s private secretary. What did you wish to discuss with Mr. Nordlin, Mr. Easy?”
“His daughter.”
Cullen Montez said, “If it’s more of her unpaid bills I must make it perfectly clear to you Mr. Nordlin is no longer financially responsible for Jillian. Are you with one of the shops down there, Mr. Easy?”
“I’m a detective. Jill has been missing for several days.”
“A police detective?”
“Private. I’ve been retained to locate her.”
“I see,” said Montez. “Of course we’re concerned about Jillian, Mr. Easy. I hope your inquiry won’t reach the point where well have to disturb Mr. Nordlin over it. May I ask if there is any suspicion of foul play?”
“Not yet,” said Easy. “You haven’t seen the girl within the past few days?”
Montez chuckled softly. “I fear not, Mr. Easy. Jillian has not been a frequent visitor in recent years. Her father’s illness has not brought her rushing to his bedside with any regularity.” Montez paused. “Am I to assume that your client, Mr. Easy, has not taken this matter to the police?”
“So far, no,” answered Easy. “Jill supposedly called someone from Carmel last Saturday, Montez. If she wasn’t at home, where was she? Do you have any idea?”
Another soft chuckle. “With a girl such as Jillian one never knows,” said Montez. “I can state with some certainty it’s unlikely Jillian was in Carmel at all recently. The senator has a great many friends and associates in this area. Had Jillian been seen in the vicinity I would have been informed. Now I must get back to my duties. I trust you will let me know as soon as you learn anything positive. Goodbye, Mr. Easy.”
“What did you find out?” Nan asked.
Moving away from his metal desk, Easy said, “Cullen Montez probably wears perfume.”
“He wouldn’t let you talk to Nordlin?”
“Nordlin is supposed to be too sick.” He put his big hands in his trouser pockets. “I have a feeling everybody is being untruthful with me.”
“That’s one of the symptoms of paranoia,” the short broad Nan told him. “We were discussing it in my group therapy session the other night.”
Easy strode to the back door. “Call the Kearny Detective Agency up in SF and ask them to go talk to the Levin girl. Also get them to check on Jill’s Porsche, see if the cops have picked it up anyplace in San Francisco.” He opened the door.
“You’ll be where?”
Easy thought for a second, then said, “Carmel.” He went out to his dusty car.